


Storm Child

by iceworm



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-03 17:51:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1753485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iceworm/pseuds/iceworm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A.N.  This story is a prequel to On a Night Like This which I finished in the summer of 2013.  In it I wrote about the last 15 minutes of Isaac’s journey from Derek’s loft until he stood outside Scott’s bedroom.  This trip must have lasted several hours, however.  It occurred to me that the period, between Isaac being thrown out by Derek and arriving on Melissa McCall’s front porch, didn’t deserve to be a missing scene. Isaac was no longer the hopeless reject that his Alpha discarded when he knocked on Scott's door.  Something important happened to him while he made his way through the storm.  Inspired by my fondness for Isaac in Season 4 of TW, I decided that I wanted to write about this night again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Storm Child

 

Isaac straightens slowly. The crouch is reflex. An automatic response conditioned by the many times his father punctuated his “constructive” criticisms with an object thrown at his head. Shards of glass lie at the boy’s feet, the remains of the glass Derek threw at him. He stares at them in disbelief. 

When he raises his head, Derek has turned his back to him. Having discarded his useless Beta, Derek has lost interest, forgotten, him. The storm raging outside has drawn his attention back to the window. Isaac doesn’t understand the fascination it has for his former Alpha. It’s only rain. 

Snatching up the duffel at his feet, Isaac walks to the sliding door that is the loft’s entrance. Cora’s scent hangs in the air of the room but she is hidden, out of sight, somewhere. Her heartbeat is a rapid staccato in his ears that contrasts markedly to the slow, steady beat of Derek’s heart. It embarrasses Isaac that she is witnessing his humiliation. 

Her familiar scent is different tonight, however. There’s a bitter undertone to it that Isaac recognizes. It’s an old friend: a scent he knows well, has reeked of often - fear. He shakes his head. Who knew anything frightened Cora Hale. The kid seemed to have had her fear organ removed. Isaac wonders what happened, if it has anything to do with Derek’s action; but the boy brushes the thought aside. Derek has made it clear that Isaac is no longer Pack. Whatever problems Derek may have, they’re not Isaac’s now.

He pulls the door open but the scent of fresh blood causes him to hesitate. Blood trickles down the back of the hand that grips the door’s handle. A thick splinter of glass, that hadn’t registered until now, is lodged in the back of his hand. He plucks it out. A reminder of him for Derek, he turns and flicks it back into the loft.

The blood flows faster now. He licks the cut. It’s strange that the copper taste in his mouth is that of his own blood and not that of an enemy. Isaac steps out into the hallway. He looks back over his shoulder. In the gloom of the room behind him, lit only by the glow from the port and the occasional flash of lightning, Derek stands, a dark, unmoving figure, stiff and remote. 

Isaac’s hand tightens on the door handle. The cut is closing as he watches. The door slams with a crash of metal on metal. Isaac leans against the door. His palms press against it; his forehead rests on the cold metal. He pushes away and walks slowly to the elevator. It stands open, waiting for him. He closes its doors, and turning to the controls, slams his fist into the button for the first floor. The young wolf slumps wearily against the wall of the elevator car as it jerkily starts its descent. His legs no longer have the strength to support him and he slides to the floor. He sits, arms locked around his knees. 

The boy holds out his hand. In the feeble light of the elevator’s single bulb, he sees that the wound on his hand has healed. Only a few flakes of dried blood remain. Pink skin shows where the glass cut him. Rubbing his thumb across the spot, there’s no pain, not even tenderness. 

It’s a miracle but tonight he hates that he heals so quickly. He wants a scar. Needs a scar, something he can see and touch; because Isaac Lahey is a fool who never learns, who needs a tangible, permanent reminder that hope isn’t for the likes of him. He needs to remember that trust is as much an illusion as love. No one cares because he’s worthless. His father was right; he’s a fuckup, a biological mistake taking up space. He succeeded in fooling Derek for a while but he figured it out, just as Isaac feared he would. The boy wipes his hand across his eyes.

The elevator groans and creaks as it makes it way to the first floor. The door on the loading dock is open. Gusts of cold, damp wind whistle and shriek into the shaft, shaking the elevator car and its occupant. The boy gives no sign that he notices. 

Isaac remains seated after the elevator car thumps to a stop at the bottom of the shaft. Finally, he reaches up and, grabbing the handle of the gate, pulls himself to his feet. He picks up his duffel and pushes open the gate. Shoving the lower door into the floor, the boy steps out onto the loading dock. He drops his duffel, closes the gate, and then reaches for the rope that hangs down from the upper half of the elevator’s doors. Grabbing it with both hands he slams the doors together. The shaft echoes with the sound. Derek will know he’s gone.

The loading dock is plunged into darkness with the closing of the elevator doors. The last of the bulbs in the ceiling of the dock has burned out. Derek had told him several times to replace the bulbs. But with the level of craziness their world descended into after the arrival of the Alpha Pack, replacing some stupid light bulbs hadn’t seemed that important. Until tonight Isaac was sure that Derek wouldn’t care. The Derek he thought he knew would have understood why he hadn’t gotten to it. Still, with the memory of his father’s craziness always with him, Isaac wonders if this last screw-up is what persuaded Derek to kick him out. 

It isn’t as though the light mattered that much, he thinks. The dock was only kept lighted in case any of their human friends came downtown to the loft. Isaac has observed that Derek doesn’t exactly put out a welcome mat for visitors. Unless it was a supernatural emergency, and then what the hell difference did a little light make anyway, no one came downtown to just hang with Derek Hale.

Now, the only light on the dock comes from street lights at either end of the block. As he stands staring into the darkness, Isaac realizes that his werewolf ability to see in the dark does not make the night any friendlier or safer feeling than when he only had human eyes. He wonders if born werewolves feel differently about the night.

Isaac is sure it is not fear that he feels as he stands looking out into the night. Sure, the Alpha Pack could make quick work of him; but he’s an Omega now and not worth Deukalion’s time. The only other powers in Beacon Hills who could threaten a werewolf like himself, are Scott and the Argents, pere et fille. But Isaac knows that Scott wouldn’t hurt his worst enemy if he could find a reason not to; and he thinks he doesn’t make it onto either Allison’s or her Dad’s radar as a bad guy. No, not fear. It is a crippling sense of aloneness that envelops him and siphons off his energy and will.

The wind has subsided and the storm clouds over the city have thinned. Stars peek through them. This storm cell has moved east. He can see lightning over the hills. His high school lies in that direction. It’s only a temporary lull, however. Isaac can see spider webs of lightning falling out of mountainous clouds that fill the western sky. 

Isaac stands paused on the edge of the loading dock. He rocks forward looking west, toward the waterfront. Sinking back on his heels, he swivels and surveys the lights of the office buildings downtown. Beyond them, he knows, are the forested hills of the preserve that mark the eastern limits of Beacon Hills. His Alpha cast him out. He is an Omega, a packless wolf. There is no place for him anywhere. 

The warehouses that line the street make it a wind tunnel. Gusts of wind batter him. He squints into the wind. Leaves and trash, the refuse of the city, swirl down the street pushed along by it. Isaac’s mouth twists in an ironic smile. This is his sign. The wind will be his guide. He’ll surrender to its power and let it blow him where it will. Isaac Lahey will be just one more piece of discarded trash carried along by the storm through the streets of Beacon Hills.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The supernatural storm conjured up by Deukalion is battering Beacon Hills and its citizens. A young, friendless wolf is out on the storm swept streets. Perhaps this is where he needs to be.

Storm Child 

Chapter 2

Isaac steps off the dock and lands lightly, knees bent, his left hand touching the ground. He glances up the five feet from the sidewalk to the dock. Cats have nothing on werewolves, he thinks smugly. The brief thrill he gets from this werewolf ability fades as his gaze travels up to the top floor of the warehouse. Straightening, he wipes his hand on his jeans and slings his duffel across his back. 

There’s rain in the wind. The breaks in the clouds are closing, obscuring the stars. A new storm is rushing toward Beacon Hills. The young werewolf sniffs the air. He sneezes. The west wind is sweeping the sharp odor of ozone into the city. Isaac hunches his shoulders against the force of the wind. He stands at the center of a whirlwind of leaves and urban debris. His lip curls. This storm is fucking insistent. But what better choice does he, a packless wolf, have? The storm can take him where it wants. Losers and fuckups don’t have the luxury of options. 

Derek’s warehouse is a black, looming presence that weighs on him as he walks slowly away. The windows in the loft look west toward the waterfront. Isaac is grateful for this. Derek won’t see him slink away into the night.

The promise of rain has turned into steady rain that drenches the young man. Ahead of him a street light carves a small pool of misty, yellow light out of the darkness. There is no nighttime street life in this neighborhood of warehouses, vacant factories, and darkened office buildings. As the young Omega makes his way along the street, lightning illumines it. Gold lettering, announcing the headquarters of a long defunct distillery, blazes to life on a dusty window as he passes. The light fades quickly but the logo of the company, an eye in a pyramid, continues to glow after the street plunges back into darkness. 

Isaac looks back over his shoulder as he crosses the street. A glow is still visible through the dark and the rain. The boy shakes his head. Beacon Hills, he thinks. The weirdness never takes a night off. A clap of thunder shakes the street, interrupting this train of thought. The light from the lightning that accompanies it reveals a wall papered in posters advertising a rave happening tonight in the neighborhood.

The boy trudges along, head down, putting one foot in front of another, oblivious to the storm around him. His thoughts are trapped, like a rat on a wheel, in an endless loop. Try as he may to put Derek’s betrayal out of his mind, he can’t stop thinking about it. The wind suddenly changes direction and a fierce gust staggers him, stopping him in his tracks. He glances up, surprised into an awareness of his surroundings. He stands at the entrance to an alley. Looking around, Isaac recognizes neither the street nor the alley whose black mouth gapes open before him. He’s never been here before but he does know this place, he realizes. It calls to his blood. The kanima tore his father to pieces here. 

Isaac shivers but pauses for only a moment before pressing on. He doesn’t want to think about his father. The night is shitty enough without being reminded that the two most important men in his life betrayed his trust in them. It is too much to deal with tonight.

He’s made one decision since he left Derek’s loft: to let the wind be his guide. Nothing has changed. He sees no need to hurry – to rush headlong into the arms of whatever fate has in store for him. His clothes were soaked through five minutes after he left the shelter of the dock. He snorts. It isn’t as though there is a superlative for soak. 

In the distance the street begins to show signs of life. Isaac is entering the seedy neighborhood that separates the city’s old warehouse/business district from the new downtown of Beacon Hills. The bars and other businesses that serve the late night crowd are open here. As he walks down the street the sidewalks which, even this late, would normally be filled with life are nearly deserted. The weird series of storms that have swept across the city today have discouraged both the residents of the area’s seedy residential hotels and the visitors from better neighborhoods who patronize the establishments in this district from lingering on the streets. The few people on the street scurry from one lighted doorway to another. They pay no attention to one more defeated, street kid looking for a dry place to flop for the night.

Isaac stops under the marquee of an old theater. It is dry here, an oasis of light after the dark streets he’s traveled tonight. He glances up and smiles wryly. More lights twinkle overhead in the electric constellations that cover its ceiling than are burned out. 

The young man studies the posters displayed in the cases besides the theater’s entrance. One announces that this theater is now home to an all topless, all bottomless review. New shows start every hour. A digital clock above the ticket booth is counting down the minutes to the start of the next show.

A heavyset, young man with long hair and thick glasses sits inside the ticket booth. His head is down, all his attention focused on the cell phone he holds in his hand. Isaac can see his thumbs moving furiously as he plays a game. The boy wonders if his fake ID would fool the ticket seller. The man has not raised his head once since Isaac stopped. He probably wouldn’t even ask for an ID, Isaac decides. Perhaps he’ll come back and try someday.

Isaac turns back to the other posters on display. He smiles as he studies the photographs of the performers. Most of the scantily clad women in them appear to be old enough to be his mother. Maybe he won’t come back. But if one of the guys wanted… He doesn’t let himself finish the thought. 

It is good to be out of the rain and the dark, if only for the moment, he thinks. The wind whirls around him. He shivers and wraps his arms across his chest. Now that he isn’t moving, he is aware of the chill his wet clothes and the wind create. He looks around to see if there is somewhere he can stand that is out of the wind. 

As he surveys his surroundings he notes that, just as there are few people on the sidewalk, there are few cars on the street tonight. This doesn’t seem to be a neighborhood you pass through on your way to somewhere else. It’s off the beaten path. People, he supposes, come here with a purpose in mind. They have an itch that needs scratching. 

The street is filled with multi-colored pools of light, reflections off the wet pavement of the many neon signs that brighten the street. Isaac watches a red Jaguar slow down across the street from him and stop. He walks to the curb curious. But even with his werewolf vision he can’t see the driver through the heavily tinted windows. The car pauses for only a moment before it continues on up the street. 

The wind presses insistently against Isaac, urging him to move on. He is turning to leave the shelter of the marquee when the same Jaguar he saw moments ago pulls up to the curb next to him. The passenger window slides silently down and a woman’s voice drifts out of its dark interior. “Where are you headed? Can I give you a lift?” 

Isaac can see only an arm draped over the passenger seat. The fingers of her hand are long and thin with manicured nails the same shade of red as her car. A heavy gold bracelet adorns her wrist. The young man watches as her index finger traces tiny circles on the black leather of the seatback.

“No, thanks. I’m going…” Isaac gestures vaguely with his hand. “…East.” 

The boy’s curiosity gets the better of him and he drops onto his haunches so he can see into the car. His left hand grips the sports car’s door for balance. The leather padding on the door is like butter to his sensitive fingers 

Isaac finds it impossible to guess the age of the woman inside. In the dim light of the car’s interior, the driver could be anywhere from 30 to 50. Blond hair is set off by a golden tan. Her green eyes are cold and calculating. They study him with an interest she doesn’t try to hide. Whatever her age, the woman is hot. An expensive fragrance drifts out into the night air. It causes Isaac’s nose to wrinkle.

“Not a problem.” She says casually. “I live downtown in the Essex.” She emphasizes the name of her building as though this information should convey more to Isaac than just a location. Perhaps, he thinks cynically, it’s meant to establish the parameters for him of the business deal she’s hoping to transact. 

She smiles. “I was just on my way home.” 

Isaac wonders if she thinks he is really that naive. A woman like her doesn’t just happen to drive through this neighborhood late at night; and she certainly doesn’t stop to talk to street kids.

She gives him a bright smile. “Forgive me but you look like you could use a lift. If it was a contest as to who looked worse, you and a drowned rat, you’d win.” But then her voice turns throaty. “Not that the clothes-plastered-to-your-body look is an unattractive one for you.” Isaac watches as her hand slides across the leather to the instrument panel between the front seats. She stretches and he can’t help but notice the way her emerald green skirt rides up her leg. Her long fingers stroke the large silver dial on the instrument panel. 

“You should really get out of those wet clothes though. You’ll catch your death.” She laughs easily. ”I mean, you’ve got extra clothes in your duffel, right?” At his nod she continues, “Come up to my place. You can take a hot shower, get into dry clothes, and I can have the concierge send something up from room service. After you eat, we can figure out where you want to go from there.” She says this offhandedly but Isaac sees nothing casual in the look that accompanies her statement. Isaac says nothing. He only continues to watch her. The woman seems confused by his continued silence. 

His stomach chooses that moment to betray him by rumbling loudly. Isaac blushes; he’s sure she hears it. It has, he realizes, been a long time since he ate last.

The woman cocks her head. “You do look a little thin.” Having gotten a response from him, just not a verbal one, the woman changes tactics, “There’s a diner a couple of blocks from here. Okay food and the best pies in the city. Let me buy you something to eat. No strings.”

Isaac pauses before saying softly, “There are always strings.” 

Her eyes narrow but she rewards him with a thin smile. “Not just a pretty face. I like that.” Smiling more broadly, she offers,. “Strings, yes, but ones…” Her hand closes around the silver dial on the console. “You’ll enjoy a lot. I promise you.” 

Isaac hears the increase in her heart rate. Confident of his answer the woman reaches over and moves the briefcase lying on the passenger seat to the rear. The Jaguar’s locks click open. “Hop in!”

Isaac starts at the sound. “You don’t understand,” He says grimly as he begins to pull away.

“What?” She asks confused. “I thought…”

Isaac rests his arms on the roof of the car and leans in to the car. The window frames his face as he explains, “Believe me. You don’t want me. No one wants me.” He brushes his rain soaked hair out of his eyes and gives her a sad, lopsided smile that sears his face into her memory. “You see, I’m just saving you the trouble of finding that out.”

“Wait! I think you should let me make my own decision about that.”

Isaac remembers the panic and terror in Allison’s face in the supply closet. Has it only been a few hours since he lost control and almost killed her? His face is grim. “You don’t understand. I’m not safe to be around. I’m dangerous.” 

The woman regains her composure. The conversation is back on what she considers familiar ground. “I like my men a little dangerous.” She purrs. “It’s part of the excitement.”

Isaac looks away. When he turns back and meets her gaze, his eyes transform. The woman is staring into the glowing, yellow eyes of a werewolf. She shrinks back against her door. Isaac pushes himself away from the car. Afraid to look away, the woman fumbles blindly until her hand finds the car’s door locks and the control for the power windows. Isaac’s eyes fade back to their normal blue as the locks engage and the window closes in his face. He steps back from the curb. The car’s engine comes to life and with a clash of gears the Jaguar speeds away into the night. Isaac stands, arms crossed across his chest, looking after the car. Its taillights have vanished into the dark before he turns. A voice stops him as he is about to walk out into the storm once again.

“Hey kid…,” Isaac looks around and sees that the man in the ticket booth is no longer ignoring him. He is standing and when Isaac continues to hesitate waves him over.

“Come here.” 

Isaac walks to the ticket booth. His puzzlement at the request is clear on his face..

“Are you an idiot?” The man snaps.

Isaac takes a step back, surprised by the young man’s angry tone. The man is staring at him wide-eyed. His expression is incredulous. 

“Do you know what you just did?” The man shakes his head. “You just threw away the golden ticket. I’ve worked this shift for over a year; and, the way I hear it, she’s been cruising this street for longer than that. The word is that she does lots of window shopping but hardly any buying, if you know what I mean?” The older man leers at him. “And you turned her down!” 

The man, his face red grips the counter in front of him leans toward Isaac. His forehead presses against the glass of the booth and his breath fogs the glass as he shouts, “Are you fucking gay?” 

“What? No, I’m not gay. I…” Isaac doesn’t know what to say or if he should explain anything. “I’m not a hustler either.”

The man looks him over. He takes in Isaac’s soaked clothes, his bedraggled appearance from his walk through the storm, the lack of a coat, his duffle slung across his shoulder and scoffs. He slumps back onto his stool.

“Yeah, sure kid. But that woman, she’s not just some rich broad looking to buy herself some young meat.” The man leans forward and his voice becomes conspiratorial. 

“This guy I know told me that she’s not looking for one-night stands. She clicks with a ‘date’ and they stay around for a while. The way I hear it, one guy stayed with her for six months. Six months, kid, and you don’t even have a dry place to flop tonight!” He snickers. “And when he left - she got him a scholarship at UCBH!” 

Isaac listens impassively as the man tells his story. When Isaac doesn’t respond, the man in the ticket booth leans back on his stool and considers him. 

“Hmmm. Nothing? That’s all you got, nothing? I don’t understand you, kid. Do you even have an idea of a place to go tonight?”

“No,” Isaac answers slowly. “But I’m not a whore. I won’t sell myself for a warm bed. I’m better than that.” 

“Sure, kid, keep telling yourself that.” The man laughs and, picking up his phone, resumes his game. The street kid in front of him no longer interests him.

Isaac wears a thoughtful expression as leaves the shelter of the theater’s marquee and walks back into the storm. The wind and the rain lash his back; his stomach rumbles again. The young man hopes the diner the woman mentioned is on this street. He is really hungry. 

The wind swirls around the boy. It almost seems happy that he is once again on the move. It pushes Isaac relentlessly eastward toward the hills and forest. If it has a destination in mind for him, the young wolf wishes it wouldn’t be so fucking cryptic.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunger and the relentless storm have pushed Isaac into The Midtown Diner. But what he needs is more than just food.

Storm Child

 

A bell tinkles above the door of The Midtown Diner. Isaac Lahey stands dripping and shivering beneath it. He swipes at the water running into his face. This may not be the diner Jaguar lady meant; but the smells coming from the kitchen are heavenly. His stomach rumbles loudly and insistently. He’s not going back out into the storm until he’s eaten something. 

A long counter extends the length of the narrow building. Stools covered in red vinyl line the counter. Booths, upholstered in the same red vinyl, hug the outside, windowed wall. The windows rattle as rain beats against them. The room is empty except for a waitress. She is filling salt and pepper shakers at the other end of the restaurant. 

Isaac hesitates. The wall behind the counter is mirrored and he can see water running off him and his duffel. He takes a step off the mat but pauses when the waitress calls out to him.

“Come on in, Honey. I’m sure we can squeeze one more in.” She laughs at her own joke as she gestures to the empty restaurant. “Find yourself a seat. I’ll be with you in a sec.”

When he still doesn’t move, she adds, “Don’t worry about a little water.” Isaac, watching a pool of water form at his feet, thinks that is not an accurate description of the situation. 

“The dishwasher will take care of it.”

“Sam, I heard that!” A man’s, deep voice rumbles out through the window to the kitchen. 

The waitress rolls her eyes as she yells back at him, “I intended you to, Tom.” 

The woman walking toward him is in her thirties, he guesses. She is pretty, with a good figure that fills out her dark blue uniform very nicely. Her long brown hair is pulled back into a braid. Her only makeup is lipstick. She is, Isaac thinks, hot.

Isaac smiles shyly at her, embarrassed by the mess he’s making. The waitress arches an eyebrow as she approaches. She can’t decide if this kid is trying to play her or is really as adorable as he seems. At any rate, he should make the time pass more enjoyably as she waits for the late rush to arrive. He is, she knows, too young for her. However, if anyone that young and cute wants to flirt with an “old” woman of 30, she is not going to object. 

She sees his indecision. His eyes travel from the floor to the pass-through window to the kitchen. The waitress nods toward the kitchen. “Don’t mind Tom. If he wasn’t complaining about something he’d be dead.” There is a loud, harrumphing sound from the kitchen which causes the young woman to laugh. She waits patiently for Isaac to make a decision.

Isaac finally steps the rest of the way off the mat. He cringes at the squeaking sounds his wet shoes make on the linoleum as he walks to a stool. The boy chooses a seat at the counter almost at the end of the diner. With his wolf hearing, he can hear the waitress’s soft sigh. She probably hoped that he’d pick a seat that wouldn’t require her to walk so far. 

He risks a look to check her expression as he unslings his duffel and sits down at the counter. The boy is surprised to see that her smile hasn’t changed. It’s still a warm and friendly one. Isaac thinks that it must be genuine and not just professional. He’s sorry if she has to walk further to serve him but he wants to sit by himself. The restaurant may be empty now but if more customers arrive he doesn’t want to be near the door. People will have to make an effort to sit by him. In his present sodden condition he thinks that’s unlikely. Food is what he wants – not conversation. 

The boy is barely seated before Sam stands in front of him. Her thousand watt smile warms the night for him. The steaming pot of coffee in her hand promises to do the same for the inner wolf. The name badge on her uniform reads Samantha. 

“Hey, I’m Samantha.” She gestures at her name tag. “But everyone calls me Sam. Coffee?” The expression on his face must be pathetic because she smiles as she pours. “Do you take anything in it, Hon?”

Isaac spots the sugar dispenser and pulls it toward him. “Cream?” He asks hesitantly. More water has dribbled down his forehead and he has to wipe it out of his eyes. 

“Coming up.” 

She walks down the counter to fetch him his cream and his eyes follow her in, he tells himself, a completely natural, non-lascivious way. His first impression was correct, she is hot. The waitress is back soon with a pitcher of cream from the cooler. She sets the little ceramic cow in front of him and hands him the menu she carries under her arm. Isaac cringes under her intense, thoughtful expression. 

The young wolf wonders if she has decided she doesn’t want a half-drowned, street rat sitting at her counter. But then she surprises him by bending down to open a cupboard behind the counter. Isaac does not check her out while she is bent over. When she straightens up she lays a couple of counter towels in front him.

“It’s a wet night out there, Hon. The restroom doors…” She nods to her left. “…have locks if you want to get cleaned up.” She gives him a friendly smile as she pats the towels in front of her for emphasis. 

“Just let me finish my prep work and I’ll be back to get your order.” 

She returns to the salt and pepper shakers at the other end of the restaurant. Once again Isaac’s eyes follow her as she walks away. 

The towels sit on the counter in front of him. The waitress acted as though her act of kindness was a perfectly normal thing to do. Isaac can’t imagine why she’d do this for him. He finally decides that her generosity is a mystery he can’t solve. Reaching down for his duffel, he grabs the towels makes his way back to the men’s restroom.

When he returns he has changed into dry clothes and his hair is dry but wildly curly from the rain. He’s warmer and would feel much better about the night if the rain that still beat against the windows of the diner would only stop. He didn’t grab a jacket when Derek threw him out and he knows he will be drenched again as soon as he steps outside. But for now he will just enjoy being warm and dry.

Isaac sits back down at the counter. He stares at the menu lying in front of him. It reminds him that he caught a hint of something, indecision maybe, in the waitress’s face when she passed it to him. She’s done him one immense favor already but he’s been mistaken for a hustler twice tonight. He opens his wallet and takes out a soggy twenty dollar bill and lays it in front of him on the counter. Isaac feels better now. When she returns for his order she’ll see that he’s not looking for a handout or a warm spot to hang out of the storm.

Finished with her chores at the other end of the diner, Samantha returns with a glass of water, a place setting, and the ever present coffee pot. She arranges his silverware in front of him, moving the twenty dollar bill out of her way as she sets his place. Isaac has made his point. But if he expects a reaction from her to the money, he doesn’t get one. 

“Know what you want, Sweetie?” She pours him more coffee and leans back against the counter behind her. Sam waits patiently for her young customer to say something. 

Isaac squirms under her friendly but serious consideration. He looks down at the menu, which he hasn’t opened, and finds himself unable to take any action more complicated than stirring sugar and cream into his coffee. 

“There are a lot of choices.” He answers vaguely. He grips the cup with both hands as he brings it to his mouth. Steam swirls around his face.

“Hard day?” She asks with a sympathetic smile. “Yeah, I know. It’s practically a book. Well, we’re about half way between dinner and breakfast. You can go either way. Do you have a preference?”

Isaac stares at her blankly. She chuckles and picks up the menu. “I guess that means you want me to choose.” The boy nods gratefully. The waitress taps her lips with a pen before pulling an order book out of the pocket of her uniform. “Do you like eggs?” A weak smile from Isaac causes her to nod decisively and begin writing in her book. 

“Good! Sophia is a magician when it comes to omelets,” She looks over her shoulder toward the window to the kitchen. “Say hello to our cute, young customer, Sophia.” Isaac feels a blush heat up his face and stares down into his cup. 

“Pryvit!” 

His head comes up. The fingers of a small hand that barely reach above the ledge of the pass-through window waggle at him. 

“She’s Ukrainian.” Louise explains. 

“We’ll need one of your special omelets, Sophia.” Sam studies him. He is hunched over his coffee cradling the cup as though it is a life preserver and it’s the only thing keeping him afloat. 

“Biscuits out of the oven yet, Hon?” Isaac smiles as a heavily accented ‘five minutes’ comes out of the window. “Give me a couple, please.” Sam finishes writing, turns and hangs his ticket on the order wheel. “It’ll be a couple of minutes,” she offers with a mock serious tone. “You may have noticed how busy we are tonight.”

Isaac, going along with the joke, turns and surveys all the empty seats that surround him. He arches an eyebrow. The waitress laughs. “This weather’s been lousy for business tonight. But the place will start filling up in…” She turns and looks at the clock on the wall over her shoulder. “…about an hour. That’s when the bars start closing.”

“You need a refill?” Glancing down at his mug, she pauses, coffee pot in hand, waiting for some sign from him. He waves her and the coffee toward him. 

“The boss hates to see customers with an empty coffee cup.” She explains. “I’ll keep asking until you tell me enough or float away.” 

She looks out at the rain still falling heavily outside. “From the looks of things we might all float away before this night is over. I’ve never seen such weird weather.” She checks his cow, making sure he still has cream, and then leans back against the wall. The night is dead; the restaurant is ready for the night’s customers; and she’s curious about this handsome young man.

“All sorts of folks come downtown for Sophia’s breakfasts or for her pies.” She points to a revolving dessert case in the center of the diner. Its multiple levels are filled with heroic slices of all kinds of cream and fruit pies. “They’re amazing.” 

Samantha continues proudly, “On the weekends after the theaters close or the Performing Arts Center has an event, you can see everything from hoodies to tuxedoes, politically incorrect furs to our local ladies of the night in their finery. It’s a hoot, seeing them sitting cheek by jowl at the counter.” 

Isaac sees her eyes go to something outside the diner. Still smiling, the waitress turns. As she leaves she casually sweeps the now used and soggy towels off the counter and deposits them into a hamper. 

The young woman is returning the coffee pot to its hotplate when the bell over the door announces the arrival of more customers. She looks toward the door and Isaac sees her smile slip momentarily before being replaced by what, Isaac now knows, must be her professional waitress smile. He knew she had to have one. This smile is thinner and there’s no twinkle in her eye as she prepares to greet her new customers. Isaac wonders what she saw in him, a wet mutt from the streets, which caused his different reception. It makes no sense to him. Hoping to solve this mystery, Isaac sneaks a glance out of the corner of his eye to see who has this different effect on his waitress.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isaac is not the only kid out on the streets of Beacon Hills tonight nor is he the only one the storm has plans for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops! I skipped a chapter. This chapter should follow chapter 3. That's why the last chapter I posted to Storm Child, for anyone who's read it, makes no sense. Again sorry. Hangs head in embarrassment.

Storm Child

Five kids mill around in the entrance to the Midtown Diner removing their rain gear. There are two couples who appear to be Isaac's age. They are talking and laughing as they jostle each other for room. A boy who must be, Isaac guesses, someone's younger brother stands apart. His expression is distant as he shrugs off his duster and shakes the water from it. Isaac watches as one of the older boys intentionally elbows him in the back as he removes his own coat. The younger boy staggers and glares at the elbow wielder, who ignores him. The boy's face is sour as he surveys his surroundings and the antics of his companions. Isaac smiles at the size of the puddle that has formed on the floor around them. The dishwasher is going to have to get out his mop and bucket again.

The girls complain loudly, to the amusement of their dates, about the water the boys are getting on their outfits. Getting no sympathy from them, they flounce away. One girl asks the waitress where the restroom is and Samantha points past Isaac to the end of the diner. The girls are cute and Isaac follows them in the mirror as they pass. They walk past him chattering animatedly. Isaac hears them giggle. He can feel his face burning and checks himself out in the mirror. The only good thing he can say about his appearance is that he no longer looks half drowned. His clothes, however, look like they had been wadded into a ball before he put them on. This is, he recalls, a pretty accurate description of how he'd packed his duffel in his haste to leave Derek's loft. He stares into his coffee and wishes invisibility was a werewolf talent.

The girls' dates trail along after them. They pad across the room smugly confident in their superiority and take the booth just past where Isaac is sitting. The boys are both tall, with short, blondish hair and both are wearing shirts that look to be a size too small for them. They are muscular in the way that guys are who spend more time working on their six-packs than they do on homework. Isaac is suspicious of them on sight.

Jocks or wannabes, he decides. Isaac would have once said like Jackson except he knows too much about that boy's pain and insecurities to make that comparison now. That he, Isaac Lahey, former grave digger and bottom feeder to the likes of these, is a jock now, he thinks, is hilarious.

The fifth wheel is small and skinny. Isaac thinks he might be 14. He falls into the booth next to them and slides across the bench until his back is pressed up against the window. He dons earbuds and closes his eyes. Dressed all in black from his t-shirt to his boots, he appears unconcerned that muddy water from his boots is running onto the cushion. His black, leather duster is tossed onto the other bench of the booth.

Samantha stops at the boys' table to drop off water and menus. The guys order coffees for themselves and their dates. When it's his turn the kid has to pull his earbuds out to hear the waitress. He wants Red Bull but grumpily settles for Mountain Dew.

The volume of conversation amps up when the girls return to the table. The young wolf listens as the kids, still hyped from their experience, excitedly rehash the details of the show they just left. Isaac wonders if it was in the warehouse where he and the rest of the pack tried to trap the Kanima. Good times, he thinks, if you ignore the panic, fear and near death experience. It was located in the warehouse district near here.

Isaac watches the couples surreptitiously in the mirror. He realizes with disgust that he envies them. Their happiness and obvious friendship makes his sense of abandonment feel more total. He guesses he is an Omega now, a packless wolf. Too new to the whole werewolf thing to know exactly what that means, he only knows that it feels like Derek ripped a part of him out when he discarded him.

Isaac's nose twitches and he smiles down into his coffee. The unmistakable, sweet odor of marijuana drifts over to him from the kids' table. He wonders if they know how that odor clings to their clothes. If their parents aren't totally clueless, he thinks the four of them will know it before this night is over though.

His smile slowly morphs into a puzzled frown. There is a different, acrid, chemical odor also present in the air that the marijuana mostly masks. Curious, Isaac takes a deeper breath. The lining of his nose burns and he rubs his finger under his nose to hold off a sneeze. He breathes through his mouth until the burning sensation passes.

Taking a second, cautious breath he realizes the smell is coming from the "fifth wheel." Isaac's eyes go to the mirror in front of him. The young wolf studies the boy sitting by himself. His face is thin and pasty under the fluorescent lights of the diner. His paleness is accentuated by black, shoulder length hair that frames his face. Its color is more like that of shoe polish than a person's. Isaac guesses that this is not its original color. The kid's body vibrates to the music coming through his earbuds.

The odd odor coming off the boy suddenly spikes catching Isaac's attention. The boy has pulled out the earbuds and is sporting a mean, cunning expression. Isaac watches him rise onto his knees and drape himself over the back of the adjoining booth. The boy and girl sitting on the bench in front of him slide apart to make room for him. He is talking rapidly and seems oblivious to his invasion of the personal space of the couple sitting next to him. All of the kid's attention is centered on the girl. He pays no attention to her date who is scowling angrily at the back of his head.

Isaac watches Sam approach their table. She pours coffee for the two couples and takes their orders. Moving on to the boy's booth, she places his drink on the table and waits patiently. His back is to her. He ignores her presence. The smile she flashed his friends a moment ago changes into a stern expression.

"You need to turn around and sit down in your seat, son."

The boy pays no attention to the waitress and continues to talk.

"Dylan!" The girl sitting across the table from him leans forward. She directs an irritated frown at the boy.

"Whaaat?" He whines not taking his eyes off the girl next to him.

"Do what the waitress says. Sit down and stop acting like a brat. She needs you to order."

"It's not me, Sis. She's the one with a problem. I thought we came here for service – not attitude. I don't get what the bitch's problem is."

"Dylan! Apologize!"

Dylan throws a bored look over his shoulder at the woman standing next to him. "Yeah, sorry." He doesn't try to sound sincere.

"Dylan, turn around and sit down. Now!" His sister gestures with her hand that he should turn around. When he continues to ignore her, she brings out the nuclear option. "Do what the lady says or I'll tell Dad."

"Yeah. Whatever." He pouts. Turning slowly he sinks down onto his bench and continues to slide down until only his head is above the table. The boy looks up at the waitress who seems tempted to say something but refrains.

"Don't worry. My sister will make sure her idiot boyfriend gives you a big tip, mam." Dylan's head tilts up. "Won't you, Katie?"

"Can I kill him for you, Katie?" The girl's date offers. Listening and watching this play out behind him, the young werewolf is puzzled by the undertone of malice he hears in the older boy's joke. It's excessive and sounds half serious. Isaac wonders if the boy's sister can hear it.

"I'm sure I could make it look like an accident." He continues and shoots a look at the boy across the table from him. "Forrest, you'll help?" The young man, whose space Dylan had been invading, gives an emphatic nod. His face is still flushed with anger.

Katie gives her date a sharp look as she shakes her head "no." She sighs theatrically and gives the waitress a what-can-you-do-with-a-little-brother look. "I'm really sorry, Miss." The apology sounds sincere to Isaac. Her embarrassment at her brother's behavior is obvious.

Slouched down in his booth studying his menu, her brother does not see the scowl she directs in his direction. "Dylan's not usually such a pain. At least not to strangers - anyway. I don't know what's gotten into him."

With a semblance of peace restored to the diner, Sam takes the kid's order. His responses to her are clipped but not obviously rude. Finished with the two tables she walks back behind the counter. Isaac sees her look his way and rolls his eyes. She nods back at him. Her lips are pressed tightly together as she walks into the kitchen.

The kid pulls his cellphone out again. The boy's face is twisted into a sour mask as he jabs at his phone angrily. Isaac can see that the boy's eyes have been following the waitress and saw when she left the floor.

Isaac listens as Katie explains to her friends, "It wasn't my idea. Dylan's only with me tonight because Mom said I had to bring him if I wanted to go. I'm sorry, guys. Mom forgot to get him a sitter."

Her brother bounces up on to his knees and faces his sister. His face is furious. "That's a lie. She never said that. I don't need a babysitter." His face flushed, Dylan growls at his sister, "Shut up, cunt."

Isaac gives up pretending he's not listening to their conversation. He swivels around on his stool and grimaces as a cloud of the sour odor rolling off the boy hits him in the face. Dylan's sister grabs her date's arm as he starts to rise and pulls him back down beside her.

The girl stares at her brother in disbelief. "Dylan! What's wrong with you tonight? You've been acting weird ever since we left the concert."

"Nothing's wrong with me, sis. In fact, I've never felt better." The boy's face relaxes into a sly smile. He reaches out and grabs the back of the seat and pulls himself across the bench until he is now behind his sister's girlfriend. The girl's face wrinkles in distaste. She leans away from him but he reaches out and takes a strand of her hair, rubbing it between his fingers.

"You've got nice hair, Becky."

Becky tries to pull away from him but the boy's hand closes around her hair, holding her in place. She winces and looks back over her shoulder as his grip tightens. Her date rises from his seat and is coming over the back of the booth after him but stops abruptly as a metallic click cuts through the sound of rain striking the diner's windows.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isaac is one of the good guys and so, of course, he gets involved in the drama. He is right where he needs to be though. It does raise the question: "Is there such a thing as free will in Beacon Hills?"

Storm Child

Dylan has produced a switchblade from somewhere. The boy holds the knife tentatively as though surprised to see it. He waves it back and forth sinuously. As he admires it lightning from the storm rumbling across Beacon Hills suddenly lights up the diner's interior causing its blade to flash. Taking a firmer grip on it, Dylan points it at the girl’s date. The boy heeds the warning and slumps back into his seat. His face is twisted with anger.

To Isaac's ears the diner is alive with noises. The hum of the fluorescent lights overhead, the compressors in the coolers behind the counter and the sizzle of grease in the deep-fryer in the kitchen all form part of the background noise. But it is the pounding of human hearts that overrides all of these and reduces everything else to insignificant background noise. The young Beta notes that the hum of conversation in the kitchen has stopped and hears the swinging door to the kitchen squeak. He doesn't look but the sudden swirl of the waitress's perfume that fills his nostrils makes him think that she is watching from the kitchen.

The kids in the booth are frozen in place. Everyone’s attention is focused on Dylan and his knife. His sister takes a deep breath. Trying to get control of the situation, she speaks calmly, “Dylan, you’re scaring Becky and you don’t want to do that, do you?” She smiles weakly. “Hell, you’re scaring all of us. Please, put down the knife.”

“Don’t think so, Katie. I’m not just the kid, your tag-along little brother. It’s time you guys take me seriously.” To emphasize his point, Dylan yanks Becky's hair. The girl lets out a frightened yelp.

Isaac is at the boy’s table before either of the boys in the booth can react. He clamps one hand tightly around the wrist of the hand holding the knife, immobilizing it against the back of the booth. Isaac's other hand grips the boy’s neck. The boy’s long hair hides Isaac’s fingers which press into the boy’s neck. His nails have elongated from the rush of adrenalin. He had not intended to extend his claws. He only wants to scare the kid into compliance, not injure him.

“Let her go,” he orders softly. Isaac applies more pressure to the boy's neck. Dylan hisses as the young werewolf's claws prick his neck. He releases the girl’s hair. She jerks away and slides out of the booth, backing rapidly away from him. Isaac watches her retreat and allows himself a quick glance toward the kitchen. Sam is looking at him through a crack in the door. She holds a cellphone in her hand and wiggles it as though telling him that she will call for help. Behind her he sees an aluminum baseball bat being waved around in the air. His eyes meet hers and he gives a minute shake of his head. The surprise on her face is easy to see and she returns a hard stare. Isaac shakes his head “no” again and tries to appeal with his eyes for time. Sam studies him thoughtfully and then slowly lowers her cellphone and makes a show of dropping it into the pocket of her uniform. She turns away from him and before the door swings closed he can see the kitchen workers are crowded up behind her.

“I know what I'm doing,” She says softly. Isaac hears the uncertainty in her voice. But then she whispers fiercely. “Tom, put that damn bat down. We're going to give the kid some time. You know how much the boss hates to have the police here.” He hears some angry muttering from her coworkers but no-one actually argues with her decision.

The kid tries to take advantage of the girl's escape and the slight relaxation in the werewolf's grip to wrench himself free. The Beta ignores his efforts and pulls him effortlessly out of the booth. Isaac holds the boy out in front of him. His feet are dangling, kicking as his toes try to touch the floor.

“Drop the knife, kid!”

Dylan struggles but Isaac increases his pressure on the boy's wrist until the knife clatters to the floor. Isaac lowers him then and twists the boy’s knife hand behind his back. His other hand maintains a tight grip on the boy’s neck. Dylan is furious and stomps down on Isaac’s foot with the heel of his boot. The young werewolf's only response is to increase pressure on the boy's neck until his resistance collapses. Isaac is now enveloped in a reeking cloud of the bitter, chemical odor rolling off his young captive.

The other young people are now all out of the booth. Becky’s date has his arms around her; and Katie is clutching her date’s arm as she watches her brother struggle in Isaac’s grip.

“What’s wrong with you, Dylan? This isn’t you. You don’t act like this.”

Dylan doesn’t reply. Isaac’s eyes narrow as he studies the four young people standing in front of him before asking, “What did he take?”

“Take?” His sister asks incredulously. Her friends seem equally surprised by his question.

“You guys smoked pot tonight.” The girls look mildly embarrassed and the boys smirk at him; but none of them deny it.

“Your brother didn’t. What kind of drug did your brother use?”

The kids look at each other in confusion. Katie looks first at her date and then at her girlfriend’s date. Both of them shake their heads. The girl turns to her brother and asks quietly, “Did you take something tonight, Dylan?”

“What if I did, Sis?” His voice is sullen. “You guys wouldn’t share your grass with me. I wanted to have fun, too. All this is your fault because you wouldn’t share.”

“What kind of drug, Dylan?”

“How the fuck should I know, Katie.” Dylan answers defiantly.

“Try again, kid.” The tips of Isaac’s claws extend further and press into the boy’s neck.

“Dude, you seriously need a manicure.” The boy snarks at Isaac. As he says this he looks up at his captor. His sneer fades as their eyes meet. The two boys are pressed together so closely that the smaller boy can see what is hidden from the others. Yellow sparks smolder in Isaac’s eyes. He gulps loudly and turns back to the front. Isaac shakes him to remind him that he hasn’t answered the question.

“I got it from a kid.”

“What kid?” His sister asks skeptically. “I didn’t see you talk to anyone.”

“As though you ever took your eyes off dumb nuts there.” He nods at her date, Justin. The two boys exchange sneers. “Just a kid, you know?”

Isaac leans down until his mouth is pressed against Dylan’s ear. He doesn’t speak, only growls softly. The boy flinches away from him and adds hurriedly, “He’s just some guy I know. From baseball camp, last summer. He goes to Beacon Hills, I think. I met him when I went to take a leak. He just came up to me and said he had something good and did I want to try it.”

“Where would you get the money?” His sister scoffs. “You’re always broke.”

“Mom.” He crows. “She may have coerced you into taking me but she bribed me to go along quietly. Do you think I wanted to spend the evening with those knuckle draggers?”

“And the knife, Dylan?” Isaac asks. “Where did that come from?”

“Seriously, Dude? What cave did you crawl out of? The Internet. You can get anything on the Internet.”

Katie shakes her head in bewilderment. “But why would you even have a knife, Dylan?”

Her brother rolls his eyes. “Not everyone floats through life on a fluffy, pink cloud of popularity, Sis. You need to wake up and smell the septic tank. I got it in case.” He scowls at the boy standing beside her. “Ask dick-brain what school is like for me.”

Isaac sees the two boys standing across from him exchange looks. He _knows_ these guys. His life in high school before Derek and the bite wasn’t like Dylan’s. He’d been invisible, off the radar, too big to bully but a social nobody to the likes of these boys. But he saw the kids at Beacon Hills, the kids who were different, whose lives were as miserable as Dylan’s seems to have been.

As he listens to Dylan fill his sister into the facts of high school life for him, Isaac’s claws retract until he’s gripping the boy’s neck with only his fingers. He also relaxes the pressure on the young boy’s arm. The boy sags against him in relief. Isaac hadn't been aware that he was actually hurting the boy. He realizes that he’s spent too much time fighting monsters in the last year, life or death situations where you don’t hold back if you want to walk away from the fight. He needs to make more allowance for the fragility of humans. Dylan throws a wary look over his shoulder at Isaac. The young werewolf stares back at him, his expression neutral.

“What’s he mean, Justin?” Katie looks up at her date. Confusion is plain on her face.

“Come on, Katie. Your brother’s a total re…”

“Justin! You know I don’t like that word.”

Her boyfriend gives her an exasperated look. “Yeah, yeah. Just look at him, Katie. His hair, his clothes, his face, for God’s sake, and the way he runs his mouth. It’s like he goes around school with this giant ‘kick me’ sign pinned to his back. So, some of the guys oblige him.” He shrugs.

“Does that include you, Justin? I’m supposed to be your girlfriend and he’s _my_ little brother, no matter how irritating he is. Are you one of those guys?’ Do you pick on him?” She turns to her friend’s date. “And, what about you, Forrest?” She watches the two boys suspiciously.

Isaac sees the look the two boys exchange. It’s pretty clear to him what the answer to the girl’s question is. He wonders if the kid's sister can see it. Forrest frowns at his friend. He obviously expects Justin to handle his girlfriend. Justin runs his hand through his hair as he looks around the little group.

“Come on, Katie.” He holds out his hand to her. “It’s not as though he actually gets hurt or anything. The guys are just kidding around, you know. Sometimes they may rough him up a little but it’s just hazing. It's part of being a freshman.”

“Is that what you call it, you arrogant, stick jockey? Kidding around?” Dylan explodes. He tries to break Isaac's hold on him but stops when Isaac shakes him sharply. Dylan throws him a dirty look that transforms into a confused frown. Isaac surprises him. He is smiling and gestures with his head for the boy to turn around. When Dylan turns back to the front he sees that his sister is standing toe to toe with her boyfriend. Her index finger is making a very visible indentation in that young man’s chest.

“Don’t you ever touch my brother again, Justin Hagerty.” **Poke**. “Do you hear me?” **Poke**. “Or let any of your low life…,” **Poke**. “…Brain dead…,” **Poke**. She glances toward her brother, who is watching her with an expression of delighted surprise on his face. “Knuckle dragging friends bother him again;" **Poke**. “or…”

The target of her outrage has stood relaxed, a condescending smile on his face as she vented her anger at him. She pauses, hand raised to strike again, and then reaches out suddenly with her other hand and grabs his crotch. Her now former boyfriend stiffens and goes very still. In an innocent voice that contrasts wildly with the wicked grin on her face, she finishes, “I’ll cut off your, oh, so, tiny, little balls.” **Squeeze**. As she turns away, Katie makes a show of wiping her hand on her skirt.

She turns back toward Isaac and her brother. “Dylan, I…” Justin, his face flushed with rage, sweeps Katie aside as he takes a step toward Dylan.

“You little prick! You're lucky you're not going to be spending the night fighting off guys at the county youth facility. A tasty little piece of ass like you would be very popular.” A leer distorts his handsome face. “But who knows, you might enjoy the attention.”

His voice drops as though he's sharing a secret with Dylan. “But you know, Coach doesn't really care what his players do as long as we don't get caught, even pot; but he does hate having the school board looking over his shoulder. So you get a pass _tonight_.” Isaac feels the kid’s body tense at this promise of future retaliation.

Justin looks toward Becky who is still holding onto her boyfriend. There's no sign that he feels any compassion for her experience. “Right, Becky?” Isaac can hear the threat in the boy's question. After a moment’s hesitation she makes the tiniest of nods to show her agreement.

Justin scowls at Katie, his now former girlfriend. “I’m out of here.” Tossing some money on the table, the boy grabs his coat. “You coming, Forrest?” His friend nods and looks down at Becky. His date's eyes go to Katie who stands watching her, arms folded and fists tightly clenched. Becky frowns in indecision.

Justin doesn’t wait for his friend. He is already pulling on his coat. As he walks past Isaac and Dylan he leans down as he passes them. Only Isaac and Dylan can see him mouth silently, Monday. Dylan flinches away from him and presses back into the safety of Isaac’s chest. The young werewolf’s arm goes around the smaller boy protectively. The sneer on Justin’s face vanishes when he straightens and catches sight of the threat in Isaac’s face. One lip is raised and just the tip of a canine shows. A low growl rumbles through the air. The boy zips up his coat with an angry jerk as he stalks to the door to wait impatiently for his friends.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, Katie.” Becky says in a small voice as her date helps her on with her coat. Forrest takes her hand and attempts to match his friend’s swagger as they leave. But one look at the anger flaring in Isaac’s eyes is enough; however, to leave him staring at the floor, avoiding the young Beta's eyes, as the two of them edge their way around Isaac. Becky stops suddenly at the door and takes a last, miserable look at her friend. Her hesitation earns her a scowl from her boyfriend before he yanks her arm and pulls her out of the diner.

The three kids in the diner watch them hurry through the storm to their car. The screech of tires as they leave brings a small smile to Isaac’s face.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isaac offers advice and help.

Storm Child

Isaac watches as the tension bleeds out of Katie's body. Her fists unclench as her arms fall to her side. The girl looks down at the crescents her nails have pressed into the palms of her hands. She rubs a thumb across them as she stares out into the night. The lights of her boyfriend's car have long since vanished into the storm. With his departure, she realizes that she can breathe easily again. Katie takes a breath and straightens her shoulders before turning to her brother.

Isaac still has a hold on Dylan but now his hands are only resting lightly on the younger boy's shoulders. Dylan, unaware of what he is doing, leans back into the security of Isaac's chest. He no longer fights against him. Isaac remembers times, before his brother died, when he was the kid leaning into the solid strength of a protector.

In the quiet aftermath of the night's drama Isaac realizes that something has changed. The young werewolf leans down. His nose just above the boy's hair, he takes a deep breath. Out of the corner of his eye Isaac can see surprise on Katie's face. He ignores her and concentrates on what his wolf senses tell him. The acrid smell of the drug Dylan took and that had enveloped him in a foul cloud during his outburst has dissipated. Only a faint trace lingers barely discernible by even Isaac's heightened senses.

Perhaps the amount of drug the kid took was small or the adrenalin released during his struggle with Isaac and the confrontation with Katie's boyfriend speeded up its breakdown. For whatever reason, the drug the boy took seems to have metabolized in his system. Dylan is calm now and no longer a danger to anyone. Isaac feels confident enough to remove his hands and give him some space. He steps away from Dylan; but his action catches the kid unprepared and Isaac has to step forward again to steady him as he loses his balance and staggers backward.

Dylan shrugs off Isaac's hands. "Dude, warn a guy when you do something like that." He cocks an eyebrow as he checks out the older boy. "What's with all the hands, man?" The kid stands awkwardly in front of Isaac. His face is the picture of offended, teenage, male pride. His right hand rubs his neck uncertainly. "You gay or something?" Isaac only smiles at him.

"Dylan." The boy turns at his sister's voice. Forgotten by the two boys, Katie stands watching them. She gestures her brother over to her.

"Dylan, do you know how much trouble we're in?" Isaac hears neither anger nor accusation in her voice but her brother's body immediately assumes the position: the defensive posture of a teenager about to receive a dressing down. Apparently it doesn't matter that the scolding is coming from his sister who is only two years older than him. "Because of all this, we don't have a ride home."

"Hey, that's not fair, Sis. He was a jerk!" As he protests, Dylan straightens, abandoning the surly slouch he had assumed. Under her steely glare his attempt at bluster sputters out but he continues to protest, "Well, it wasn't _totally_ my fault and he _is_ a jerk." Dylan's face clouds up and he now looks like a boy who is struggling not to humiliate himself by crying in front of his big sister. "Didn't you mean what you said, Sis?" His eyes have grown shiny with unshed tears. "You said you were on my side."

Katie walks over to him and smiles as she slips an arm around his shoulders. "I am you idiot but our ride is gone; we're miles from home; there's no chance we'll get home before our curfew; the rain's coming down like it's time to start building an ark; and unless you've got some money left after your little adventure in pharmacological experimentation, we don't have cab fare." Her baby brother shakes his head. "That's what I thought. That means I have to call Dad to come get us."

"Ohhhh, yeah." The boy's shoulders slump as the reality of their situation sinks in.

Dylan looks desperately around the diner. His eyes light on Isaac. "Maybe…" he starts.

Isaac grins but holds up his hands as though to ward off the boy's hopes. "Sorry, man. I'm on foot." Dylan's eyes widen as he turns to the windows where the wind is whipping rain against them.

As brother and sister huddle together contemplating the unpleasant call they have to make, Isaac walks over to the knife Dylan dropped. Bending down, he grabs its handle, places the knife's blade under the heel of his shoe and snaps it off. He picks up the pieces and starts to toss them into a trash container under the counter but hesitates. Looking down at them he instead slips the only physical evidence of what happened tonight into the pocket of his hoodie. He'll get rid of them somewhere else. That creep Justin might just change his mind. Isaac has his own recent memories of being in jail. He does not intend to let Dylan get thrown into jail for a dumb mistake.

"Why'd you do that? Do you know how much that cost?" Dylan protests. Whatever else he might have said is cut short by a slap to the back of his head. The young boy gives his sister an injured look. "Well, it cost a lot of money, Sis."

"You aren't going to need a knife anymore." His sister has a fierce look on her face that dares him to contradict her.

Isaac finds that Katie has not forgotten him. He is the next target for her consideration. She gives him a friendly smile. "Thanks for what you did. That really wasn't my brother." She gives Dylan's shoulders a squeeze. Her brother tries to wiggle out of her grasp but Isaac notes that he doesn't try too hard to break free. "It was the drug."

"Yeah, I figured." Isaac's expression is serious. "You know, you and your brother have a lot to talk about with your parents." Dylan looks up at his sister. The little color in his pale face washes away.

"Sis? Couldn't we just say you had a fight with Justin and he dumped us here?"

"No. You could have hurt someone tonight, Dylan, and be on your way to jail, right now, if …" She looks a question at the young man who saved her brother from a life changing mistake.

"Isaac."

"If Isaac hadn't been here." Dylan tries to look away but his sister reaches out and takes his chin in her hand and makes him look at her. Her expression is fierce. "But the kid who sold you that shit and whoever supplied it to him need to be taken off the street."

"Sis." Dylan whines.

Isaac interrupts. "Dylan, it's not a question of being a snitch. You don't owe that guy anything. He poisoned you. He's not your friend and he'll do it to other kids if you stay quiet. You need to tell someone what you know and I know someone who's cool, someone who'll listen to you even though you're a kid, John Stilinski. He's the Sheriff of Beacon Hills," Isaac has both kids' attention. "Sheriff Stilinski, is a good guy. He's the father of one of the guys on my team."

The young werewolf pauses. When he continues his voice is flat and matter-of-fact. "He also arrested me for murder." The eyes of his two listeners widen at this admission. "He was wrong but he did have what seemed like a good reason. He apologized when he realized his mistake and helped me through... a bad time." Isaac's expression is somber and his eyes seem to glow as he focuses on the younger boy. "He'll help you too, Dylan, if you go to him."

Dylan still looks doubtful but his sister gives Isaac a warm smile. "Thank you. Thank you for everything. The way you were able to get Dylan away from Becky. That was just amazing." Her expression grows thoughtful as she adds. "You must be _very_ strong."

"I'm a stick jockey, too, at Beacon Hills. But hopefully not a knuckle dragger." He winks at Dylan who smiles back weakly. "The coach has us do a lot of weight training." Isaac flashes Katie a wide, sincere smile as he pushes the hair out of his eyes. He knows that doesn't really explain how he was able to lift her brother out of the booth but it's a barely plausible explanation of his supernatural strength. He has to hope that she will settle for a feeble but rational explanation rather than pursue her questioning into the irrational world that Isaac exists in.

Katie continues to stare at him for an uncomfortably long period of time before finally nodding. "Come on kiddo, let's make that call. It's just getting later and Dad's going to be madder the later it is." Katie steers her brother to a booth where they can call their parents.

When Isaac turns back to the counter he is not surprised to find Samantha watching him from behind the counter. He had heard the squeak of the swinging door to the kitchen and been aware of her perfume for some time. She has a pot of coffee in her hand and he sees that his old cup has been replaced by a clean one. As he sits down on his stool she fills his cup and places a full creamer beside it.

"Your first breakfast got cold. Isaac?" She makes his name a question and he nods in reply. "So, Sophia is making you a new one. It'll be up in a few minutes."

Isaac concentrates on making his coffee sweet and pale, the way he likes it. He can see in the mirror in front of him that the waitress is now bussing the tables behind him. When he looks up again Samantha is back in front of him.

"Did the creep leave money for the food they ordered?" Isaac's question surprises her.

"No. It covered their drinks, which is more than I expected. Why?"

"The kids don't have any money." He nods at the brother and sister who are carrying on a quiet but animated conversation. "Would you see if they want something? They're working up the courage to call their folks and the condemned deserve to have a good last meal." The two of them share a smile. "I'll pay."

"Only...," Isaac stops her as she turns to leave. "If they ask, say the boyfriend left enough money to cover their food." Sam arches an eyebrow. Isaac picks up his coffee and stares down into it before taking a drink. He looks up at her. "They _need_ to call their folks – not have me pay for a cab for them. If I do that, by tomorrow morning, they won't have the courage to tell their parents about any of this." He shrugs. "I wouldn't, if it was me." Sam nods in agreement. She wasn't a teenager that many years ago, after all.

Isaac watches in the mirror as Samantha approaches Dylan and Katie. He ducks his head not wanting to be caught watching but not before he sees the waitress bring up her pad and begin to write. The order-up bell rings in the kitchen and his stomach rumbles its enthusiastic approval at the promise of food.

A huge plate of food soon appears in front of him. Sam tops off his coffee as he dives into the first food he has had since lunch. When he comes up for air he watches as Katie sets her cellphone down on their table gently as though it was an unexploded bomb.

Although she speaks quietly, the young werewolf can easily hear the summary of the call that she gives her brother, "They're both coming." Her brother gives a long sigh that seems to echo in the quiet of the empty diner. The gloom at their table lifts somewhat with the arrival of their food and Samantha's cheerful presentation.

Isaac hears the sarcasm in Dylan's whispered comment as the waitress walks away, "Do you think she's on something? No-one's that cheerful this late at night."

His sister's response is a sharp, "Dylan!"

"Kidding, Sis." The boy's head comes up and he looks over his sister's shoulder at Isaac. "Do you think the creep really left enough money to cover this?" His sister contemplates the catchup covered French fry she holds in her fingers before downing it.

"Why? What do you think?"

Dylan turns his attention back to his sister as he answers,"I think there's a greater chance of the Easter Bunny being real." Their laughter drifts over to Isaac.

"Dylan, where are you going?"

Isaac looks up and sees in the mirror that Dylan is now standing behind him. His hand is gripping his elbow. He looks nervous but determined. Isaac swivels around to face him. He can see that the boy's sister has turned around in their booth and is watching. By her puzzled expression, he can see that she has no idea what her brother is doing.

"Hey." Isaac greets him.

"We called our folks." Isaac nods. "They'll be here in about forty minutes." Dylan pauses. "I haven't thanked you for helping me, man. You didn't have to get involved." He hesitates before saying in a rush, "I was wondering, can we give you a lift? There's no reason for you to walk." His voice is emphatic as he nods toward the windows where rain is cascading down them in sheets. "There'll be plenty of room." He snorts. "Mom's bringing the Escalade. We can take you wherever you need to go." Isaac can see his sister nod in agreement.

Isaac stands up. "Thanks. But you sure you just don't want me along as an excuse to postpone the grilling your parents are going to give you?" The boy's obvious surprise and look of hurt makes Isaac regret his suspicion. "Okay, sorry, man. I appreciate the offer but I don't think the storm is finished with me." This statement earns Isaac an are-you-insane look from the boy that causes Isaac to smile. "Yeah, I know it sounds weird but there are still some things I need to figure out and walking it out, even in this," Isaac gestures to the windows and the storm outside, "Will help."

"Well, okay," Dylan agrees doubtfully. "But I wanted you to know I appreciated what you did for me." As Dylan turns away Isaac places a hand on his arm.

"Wait. Take this." Isaac reaches back and picks up a napkin lying on the counter and hands it to the boy.

Dylan looks down at the piece of paper in his hand. He clearly has no idea what he's supposed to do with a napkin.

"Turn it over." Isaac suggests softly not wanting to involve the boy's sister, who is watching them closely, in something that is strictly guy stuff.

On the other side of the napkin is a telephone number. Dylan looks up. His confusion is obvious to Isaac who clarifies, "You know, if you have any trouble on Monday." Isaac winks at him.

The boy's eyes widen as he realizes what Isaac is promising him. He folds the napkin carefully before casually slipping it into the pocket of his jeans. Dylan sticks out his hand and Isaac takes it.

As the boy walks back to his sister his step seems lighter to Isaac. Once he is back at their table he ignores all the questions his sister peppers him with. Instead of answering he sets about finishing the rest of his meal. The occasional mysterious smile he sends her way during her attempt at interrogation finally causes her to fall into a frustrated silence. The diner is quiet now except for the sound of the rain and the three young people finishing their meals.


End file.
